<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>sticks and stones may break my bones; hearts were made for breaking by springonions_withranch</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28759116">sticks and stones may break my bones; hearts were made for breaking</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/springonions_withranch/pseuds/springonions_withranch'>springonions_withranch</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1x03, American author, Bisexual John Watson, Gay Sherlock Holmes, How Do I Tag, I hate school, JUST KISS ALREADY, Jkjk, M/M, Mummy holmes is an OG, Or am I, Sherlock Holmes has a military kink that is unfortunately not referenced in this, Sherlock Holmes is a Bit Not Good, The Pool Scene (Sherlock), Unreliable Writer, blink two times if you need help, burning the heart out of you, how do you write heartfelt stuff, no beta we die like Redbeard, ok ill stop now, or Sherlock (but I guess he really didn't die so that doesn't count), or moriarty, pls send help, school is a bitch, sorry if it's not british-accurate idk im trying, what if i just wrote my whole story in the tags, writer attempts feelings, wtf is this title?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:42:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,106</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28759116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/springonions_withranch/pseuds/springonions_withranch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes has experienced heartbreak exactly twice.</p><p> </p><p>The first was a mistake, a bout of childish and misguided puppy love. </p><p> </p><p>The second time someone broke Sherlock Holmes’s heart, it was purely his fault.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eurus Holmes &amp; Victor Trevor, Jim Moriarty &amp; John Watson, Sherlock Holmes &amp; Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes &amp; John Watson, Sherlock Holmes &amp; Original Male Character(s), Sherlock Holmes &amp; Victor Trevor, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor (kinda)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>sticks and stones may break my bones; hearts were made for breaking</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>here’s an attempt at writing “feelings” that’s probably not even that good so read at your own risk I guess</p><p>There’s also a “fight” scene (my first attempt at a physical fight and not where people are throwing cookbooks at each other) so...bon appetit?</p><p>Also the beginning starts off as eloquent as I can write and the words just go down from there.</p><p>In addition, the scene at the end may or may not be the pool scene that’s just a tab bit modified and such.</p><p>I’ve also never really been “heartbroken” (i think) so if it’s inaccurate sorry.</p><p>This was literally born when I was on Pinterest one day and saw a writing prompt “We all fucking burn in the end” and I immediately thought of my son Jim.</p><p> </p><p>I don't own any of the characters (except for Richard Benson (named after Barry B Benson) and Allison Freebach (whose last name is a twist/combo of Freebatch))</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock Holmes has experienced heartbreak exactly twice.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The first was a mistake, a bout of childish and misguided puppy love. Sherlock was too young to be conscious of what his feelings were back then, but when he looks back on it now, he knows it was love.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His name was Redbeard, or formerly, Victor Trevor. He was Sherlock’s best friend, the peanut butter to his jelly, the second pea in his pod. It was rare for Mummy Holmes to see the two apart, always playing a game of pirates or splashing about in the lake. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their bond was endearing, for sure, but it always worried Mummy Holmes to see them run off together, leaving Eurus in their wake. No, Mummy wasn’t worried about them being by themselves; surely, Sherlock was vigilant enough to keep them both safe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What worried Mummy was the rejected, lost look on Eurus’s face when they ran off without her. What worried Mummy was the dark, dejected look in Eurus’s eyes that grew along with her. What worried Mummy was the way Eurus stared at Victor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To the untrained eye, it would appear Eurus had a minuscule crush on Victor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To Mummy, who knew many things, it appeared the stare of a shark, lurking in the shadowy depths of the ocean, ready to strike at any moment. It was the smirk of a child who knew just </span>
  <em>
    <span>a bit too much</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a narrowing of the eyes too similar to a fairy tale villains’.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The afternoon Redbeard went missing was the day Sherlock’s heart got broken for the first time. His best friend was nowhere to be seen; without his other half, Sherlock felt bare and confused. Not even an hour before, Redbeard and he had been playing pirates by the lake, promising to each other they would always be there for the other; in context, Redbeard was saving Yellowbeard, Sherlock’s pirate, from a horde of savage harpies, and after successfully fending them away, they made this vow to each other. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was Sherlock’s first vow. It wouldn’t be his last.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Sherlock searched for his partner for four hours, screaming into the trees and frantically digging holes; he had followed the instructions in Eurus’s song, surely he would find Victor, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock hadn’t checked in the well. Neither had Mycroft, Father, or Mummy. Located on the furthest edge of the property, no one heard Victor’s screams for help. To be lifted out of the well. To be freed from the chains binding his leg to the bottom. To stop the endless stream of water filling the well faster with every second.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Redbeard always had a special, reserved place in Sherlock’s heart; a place reserved for the closest of friends and maybe-maybe-nots. The place Victor had once occupied was sloppily sewn up by dedicating his life to learning, observing, and knowledge.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The second time someone broke Sherlock Holmes’s heart, it was purely his fault. Sherlock blamed it on the fact that he let himself get attached to the man far too quickly; in his defense, who wouldn’t have?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not every day you find yourself chasing a cab through the streets of London, especially not with an ex-soldier and doctor with a psychosomatic limp at your side. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was astounding to Sherlock that the man followed him; who would willingly put themself in the direct line of danger and blindly trust and follow someone they had just met? It was even more shocking that instead of insulting his razor-sharp intellect and deductions, the man, John Watson, had praised them. Called them “</span>
  <em>
    <span>fantastic!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” and “</span>
  <em>
    <span>brilliant!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” in fact. It had made Sherlock feel...different. Proud of his abilities. Worth something. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not like a freak</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And,” a seventh year Sherlock adds, “your older brother has been having side relations with a business CEO while his wife thinks he’s out volunteering at their local church. Irish-Catholic, from what my deductions tell me. Oh, and you might want to start doing some extra cardiovascular activities if you want any chance of Allison Freebach noticing you. I hear she doesn’t tend to notice people with...filament arms. Not that you would know what that means. I’d reckon someone as daft as you doesn’t even know your right foot from the othe-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sherlock’s sentence is cut off as he notices the ugly, contorted look on the other boy’s face. He barely has time to duck before Richard Benson’s fist swings towards his face. When no contact is made, Richard pulls his fist back and rears to punch again. One second. Another. Then the grunt of effort signaling the beginning of the attack. Sherlock grabs the offending hand and holds it in place, mere inches away from his face. He brings his free hand close to his torso and quickly engages his core, twisting to the right. Placing his thumb across the first and second knuckle of his pointer and middle finger, Sherlock slightly bends his knees, pivots, and delivers a precise, quick jab to the place between Richard’s fourth and fifth ribs. The boy drops his arm with a wheeze and clutches his middle.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Satisfied with his defense, Sherlock straightens back up and brushes his hand on his shirt.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Where’d you pick that up? I didn’t think you had any friends to teach you how to punch like that,” Richard sneers. “Or was it a private tutor your big brother had to bribe to teach so his little brother could have a chance in a fight?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sherlock snorts.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It was your mom, actually. In fact, during our last session, I told her to give you my love. Did she not, Benson?” Sherlock taunts. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richard bolts back up and grabs a broken tree branch off the ground (and has a bit of difficulty doing it too, Sherlock notices).</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The stick lunges towards Sherlock’s stomach and grazes the skin beneath his shirt. Sherlock tumbles back and Richard advances, swinging the stick into Sherlock’s left oblique and knocks the wind out of him. It takes a well-placed kick from Richard to topple Sherlock to the ground with a groan. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Too bad my mom didn’t teach you that one, huh, Holmes?” Richard snarls, victorious. Sherlock sends him a piercing glare in response. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richard gathers the saliva in his mouth and expectorates it with a </span>
  </em>
  <span>‘splat!’</span>
  <em>
    <span> It lands on the ground an inch from Sherlock’s eye. Benson drops the stick and stalks away. Sherlock almost misses the muttered word Richard utters.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Freak.”</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Sherlock’s heart skipped a beat the moment John stepped out of the pool door, greeting him with an “Evening. This is quite the turn-up, isn’t it, Sherlock?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How was this possible? The man Sherlock had trusted, befriended, </span>
  </em>
  <strike>
    <em>
      <span>loved </span>
    </em>
  </strike>
  <em>
    <span>was...Moriarty?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Confused, </span>
  <span>hurt, </span>
  <span>Sherlock willed his voice to stay strong as he asked, “John...what the hell?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bet you never saw this coming,” was John’s response, confirming Sherlock’s fear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And it hurt. To know the person he had </span>
  <span>loved</span>
  <span> known was never really real; John was a liar, a fake. A--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What...would you like me...to make him say...next?” The oversized jacket was pulled apart to reveal a vest loaded with explosives.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>At that moment, several things happened to Sherlock Holmes:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>1. He realized John H. Watson was not, in fact, Moriarty.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>2. He realized Moriarty had gotten to John.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>3. Sherlock knew he had let that happen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>4. Sherlock knew Moriarty was going to kill John.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>5. Sherlock Holmes’s heart broke for the second time in his life.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>When John started speaking again, Sherlock noticed the earpiece lying in his ear as well as the desperate look in John's eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nice touch, this. The pool where little Carl died. I stopped him. I can stop John Watson too. Stop his heart.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “Who are you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A door opens and Sherlock is greeted by the sight of a gay I.T. worker he had just met some hours before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jim? Jim from the hospital?” Sherlock questioned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point,” the man, Jim, said. “Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A small red dot appears on Sherlock’s chest, and then it moves to somewhere on his forehead. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sniper</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sherlock thinks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>”I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see...just like you!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock feels his ever-present sarcastic side shove its way to the front, covering the emotional side of him. "Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister? Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?" Sherlock mocks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jim Moriarty just laughs, a semi-pitched thing; something you’d hear from a pubescent male. “Just so,” Moriarty replies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A consulting criminal. Brilliant.” Sherlock barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Isn't it? No-one ever gets to me... and no-one ever will.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I did.” Sherlock’s gun is cocked and the safety flicks off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You've come the closest. Now you're in my way,” Moriarty remarks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Didn't mean it as a compliment.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “Yes. Yes, you did.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Moriarty shrugs. “Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting's over, Sherlock…” His voice takes on a singsongy quality. “Daddy's had enough now! I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Moriarty pauses, giving a dramatic sigh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Although I have loved this – this little game of ours. Playing Jim from I.T. Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Holmes doesn’t repress his eye roll this time. “Quite. Unfortunately, people have died from our little...game. So if you could just...stop? Yes, if you could refrain from terrorizing the citizens of London, that’d be most appreciated.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jim gives an exasperated sigh and shouts, “That’s what people do, Sherlock! Don’t you get it? If you’re going to die, might as well do it with a little--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Moriarty imitates an explosion with his hands and makes an ‘exploding’ sound. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“--bang!” He gestures to John, who has been watching the interaction with slight fear and anticipation in his eyes. Another red dot appears, indicating the sniper has moved his target from Sherlock to John. Sherlock feels a rush of panic and moves to reach towards him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before Moriarty can signal to his sniper, John rushes forward and grabs Moriarty from behind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Go!” he urges. “Save yourself, Sherlock!” </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Sherlock’s heart splinters into pieces.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>A man who had only known him for a week was willing to die for him. Was willing to kill for him. Would give his life for Sherlock’s survival. At that moment, Sherlock realizes how infinitely screwed he is. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He is in love with John Watson.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>A cackle pierces through the darkened pool. A second red dot appears on Sherlock’s chest, a third on his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you really think I would be so careless? Only one sniper? Sherly, you know me </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span> better than that!” Jim laughs. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sherly. Surely. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> much!” he giggles with mirth. “Unfortunately, there really is no other way out of this. Unless, of course, you leave me alone and </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop getting in my way</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Or you…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Or I die,” Sherlock predicts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Moriarity looks horrified by his suggestion and opens his mouth in shock. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You mean, by me killing you? Me? <em>Kill you</em>?” His eyes look from side to side as if looking for people watching their conversation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“N-no, don’t be so obvious. I mean, I’m gonna kill you eventually. I don’t want to rush it though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>A wicked smile appears on the man’s face, thin eyebrows quirking up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m saving it up for something special!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shaking his head, Moriarty mumbles, “No, no no no no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks Sherlock straight in the eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll burn</span>
  <em>
    <span> the heart </span>
  </em>
  <span>out of you."</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock smiles, the grin not making its way to his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Sherlock responds;</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“We all fucking burn in the end.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock sees his use of profanity makes right the corner of John’s mouth twitch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Moriarty shrugs and the red dots disappear; the snipers have been called off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“However true that </span>
  <em>
    <span>may</span>
  </em>
  <span> be, it was nice to have had a proper chat.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ciao, Sherlock Holmes!” he bade. “See you later, John Watson!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” John declares, clearing his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t think you will.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>how was it? Pls give feedback if you like, I crave it</p><p>And yes, I (sorta) did quote Captain America from Endgame in the last line.</p><p>And yes, I did incorporate yo-mama jokes cuz I have the maturity of a fourth-grader. </p><p> </p><p>Thank you for reading!! &lt;33</p><p>Find me on Tumblr @barrybclout</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>